The Fall
by iSmish
Summary: "I was so alone and I owe you so much." Those words broke John Watson's heart to say but he knew them to be true. He had lost everything and part of him thought he would never get it back.


**This is the first of hopefully many Sherlock fics that I've written. It was set at the end of The Reichenbach Fall and basically an alternate ending. I'm still debating whether or not I want to make this a one-shot, or continue on and write more.**

**I hope you all enjoy!**

A lone figure stood in the cemetery that day, as still and silent as the air that surrounded him and the giant pine that towered over him. He'd lost track of how long he'd been there – probably going on several hours now. He was cold, his body stiff and numb from standing for so long in the same place, yet he did not feel it. The only thing he could hear or feel now was the oddly steady beat of his heart as it pounded in his head.

One of the cemeteries local inhabitants, a lone crow, cawed as it flew overhead before disappearing into the distance. But the sound was lost to the man. All he could do, see, hell even feel, was the single grave stone that jutted out of the earth before him. Its name and the only two words that adorned its cold face had remained in his locked vision. He could not look anywhere else.

For him, time stood still, just as it has done when Sherlock fell. Little had moved since then, even though so much had happened over the past week. A thin smile tugged at the corners of his lips at that thought. It had been a week since his last conversation with the man, a week since his 'note'. A week since he had fallen to his death from the top of St. Barts.

A painful twinge erupted in his chest and for the first time since his initial arrival, he shifted, aching body moving ever so slightly to the left. The words, that _name_ suddenly began to blur and swim and he realised that tears had filled his eyes. He had not wept once. Not after the fall, the days that followed or even the funeral. It had taken hours of staring at Sherlock's name carved into the black marble to finally break him. Slowly, he took a step forwards, ignoring the freshly dug dirt that crunched under his heel and laid a quivering hand atop the stone.

"You – You told me once, that you weren't a hero," His voice trembled as he spoke and he did not try to contain it. "There were times I didn't even think you were human. But let me tell you this; you were the best man, the most human – human being that I have ever known. And no one will ever convince me that you told me a lie. There."

He paused then, voice quivering too much to make much sense. More pain than he had ever physically felt before ran through him and he had to force himself to continue. His knuckles grew white as they clenched the head stone.

"I was so alone and I owe you so much."

He nodded once, firmly and drew his cold hand back to his side. Turning his back finally, he was able to walk away, but it was a fruitless act. Barely three steps had been taken before he found himself turning back around and staring once more at the name.

"There's just one more thing - One more thing. One more miracle, Sherlock, for me," His bottom lip began to quiver sheer effort it took not to break down. "Don't be… dead. Just for me… Just stop it. Stop this."

It was in vain. The pain that flooded his heart, his mind, his entire being and body finally became too much and he crumpled to his knees. All of the anguish, anger and regret that he had allowed to build up over the past week became too much for him to handle. And he wept. A hand covered his face while the other helped to keep him from falling into the freezing dirt and he remained there, body shaking from the cold and the violent sobs that racked his frame. His shoulder ached in protest from trying to hold up his body and he ignored it. All he could focus on was misery. He had lost his partner, his house mate and his best friend. He was alone in the world once more and that was something that he could not face. Not without him. Not without Sherlock by his side.

His sobs soon dulled to soft hiccups and with much effort, he was able to pull himself back to his feet. Aching eyes cast a glance once more at the headstone and he looked away swiftly. Looking at it was now unbearably painful and he exhaled, shoulders slumping.

Footsteps suddenly echoed behind him and he took a shuddering breath. Mrs Hudson must have heard him crying and come to check on him. He wiped his eyes on the back of his sleeve but did not turn, even as the footsteps paused a few meters behind him. He could feel eyes on the back of his head.

"Sorry, Mrs Hudson, I just needed a moment."

"Take all the time you need, John."

He froze, breath catching in his throat. That was not Mrs Hudson's voice or, and he silently cursed himself for not realising it earlier, Mrs Hudson's elderly gait. Slowly, so slowly, and almost dreading what he would see, he turned, blue eyes wide and rampant with emotions. The sight before him hit home harder than anything else could have.

There he stood, dark curls now tossing in the fresh wind, piercing eyes boring straight into his own, scarf, jacket, purple button down shirt and all. There stood Sherlock. He looked tired, strained and naught but a small smile touched his arched lips but it was him.

John took a step back, head shaking in disbelief. "No… No. I-I saw you. I watched you fall."

It was his mind playing tricks on him, the light, something. _Anything._ He couldn't believe it. He didn't want to believe it. There was no logical way that Sherlock could be standing before him. But even as he tried to reason with himself, he realised that Sherlock and logic never really did go hand in hand. There was no logical explanation for what he was seeing. Sherlock was there. He was alive.

Slowly and cautiously, the doctor moved towards the taller man, fully aware that his breath had caught in his throat, his heart was hammering in his chest and that tears once more rimmed his aching eyes. After what seemed like an eternity, he stood before him, gaze racing over his features. A hand reached out towards Sherlock as if to touch his face. The gentle touch never came though. The self-entitled sociopath should have expected that John would not take his return easily. And he was correct in his assumptions.

The would-be gentle touch turned almost instantly into a punch straight to the face. Sherlock saw it coming, of course and did not bother to move out of the way. John's fist connected straight with an angled cheek bone and the knock pushed him back a few steps. He had little time to recover before a second fist slammed into the other side of his face. Then another. And another. Sherlock allowed the barrage of hits to land on his face and chest without complaint or restraint. It was only when John appeared to have exhausted himself that he moved.

Two long arms wrapped themselves around the doctors' arms and he pulled him close, bloodied chin resting atop the man's quivering shoulders.

There was silence, broken only by John's panting, then -

"Why?"

That single word struck Sherlock like an arrow to his heart and he embraced his doctor harder and closer. There would be time, so much time afterwards to explain to John in full detail why he had done what he did. For now, he was content to simply hold the man close to him.

"You were alone, John. And I owe you so much."

John's aching arms had been hanging limply by his sides since Sherlock had taken him into his embrace. Now though, they slowly lifted and gingerly, as if fearing that the man would disappear, mimicked the gesture. At first his arms held little strength as they settled around the taller man, but as his sluggish mind slowly began to realise that Sherlock really was there, his grip tightened. Renewed tears trailed down his cheeks and joined the blood that leaked from Sherlock's no doubt sore nose. He did not mind though.

"Don't – don't leave like that again." He murmured, fingers clenching into the dark wool of Sherlock's coat.

The man nodded, his lips suddenly close to John's ear. "The next time we fall, we fall together."

And John wouldn't want it any other way.


End file.
